


Tea and Sociopathy

by Draycevixen



Series: Meet the Holmes family [1]
Category: Person of Interest (TV), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Community: intoabar, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-26
Updated: 2013-06-26
Packaged: 2017-12-16 05:07:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/858137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Draycevixen/pseuds/Draycevixen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the  challenge prompt: Harold Finch walks into a bar and meets... Sherlock Holmes  <br/> </p><p>A prequel, of sorts, to my <i>Meet the Family</i> Person of Interest/Sherlock crossover series.</p><p>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tea and Sociopathy

Finch had never thought a diner’s door would prove to be his nemesis. He took a deep calming breath and then did some rapid calculations based on the angle of the slope from the street to the doorway, the braking tolerance of his wheelchair and the overhead height of the pull door handle. It had to be _pull_. 

“Allow me.” With a sweep of a greatcoat too theatrical even for Finch’s tastes, the door was whipped open one-handed while Sherlock guided Finch’s wheelchair through it and forward to the hostess station. “If we might have the table at the back and if you would please be kind enough to move that chair out of the way…” 

The waitress looked dazzled, either by the force of Sherlock’s rare smile or by his charming accent, but was quick enough to move. “Of course, sir, right this way.” She pointed out the menus in the rack on the table and promised to come right back for their orders before walking away carrying the spare chair.

He tried not to flinch as Sherlock looked him over. 

“Mycroft said you were making a swift recovery, all things considered. When I saw the wheelchair I wondered if you’d had a relapse.”

“I can get around with just a cane now but I still tire easily.”

“—And a wheelchair draws less attention to you than a cane does” Sherlock undid his coat but didn’t remove it “because people see the wheelchair and not you, avoiding eye contact in case you might think them rude.” 

“With some rare exceptions only children stare at a stranger in a wheelchair.” 

The waitress returned, walking further around the side of the table so Finch could see her easily without having to try to turn. She didn’t know it yet but she would be getting a sizeable tip. They both ordered tea, Finch ordered scrambled eggs and wheat toast and once the waitress had brought their drinks they were alone again. 

Sherlock was turning his water glass in what might be mistaken for nerves in someone else. 

“Spit it out, Sherlock.” 

“Mummy wants to know if you are sure… about Grace.” 

“What?” 

“She insisted I ask.” Sherlock frowned. “It’s not like she doesn’t know I’m terrible at this sort of thing.” Sherlock waved his hand vaguely. 

“Feelings?” 

Sherlock’s lip quirked before he drank more of his tea. 

The waitress returned with Finch’s eggs and toast, giving him a moment to gather his thoughts. 

“Please tell Aunt Violet, thank you, but I’m sure.” He’d been tempted and his aunt had known it. She’d offered him the chance to move to London and take Grace with him, had asked him what was the use of having a son who _was_ the British government if they couldn’t protect their own. The Holmes family had never really understood feeling guilty, far too visceral an emotion, so his reasons for turning her down had been difficult for her to accept. Yes, Mycroft could protect them against the consequences of what he’d already done, if he were willing to ignore the irrelevant list, but even Mycroft couldn’t protect them in the face of what he was planning to do next. 

“But then mummy and Mycroft don’t know that you are just getting started.”

Finch looked up from the napkin he’d been unconsciously shredding to meet Sherlock’s eyes. “If Nathan hadn’t been murdered perhaps things might be different.”

“That’s what your _feelings_ get you, having to fake your own death and leave behind everyone you value.” Sherlock’s tone was incredulous. He drained his cup and pushed it away from him. “Say what you will, being a sociopath has its advantages.”

“I’m sure you’re right.” It would be a waste of time trying to explain to Sherlock, of all people, why it had been worth every second of the pain. He’d been hungry when he’d ordered, but the scrambled eggs slowly congealing in front of him no longer held any appeal. He glanced at his watch.

“You have another appointment, Harold?”

“My driver should be here shortly. I have a meeting planned in New Rochelle.” 

Sherlock grinned. “I trust from your facial expression that this meeting will not make the family happy.”

“Hardly.” Despite all of his research he wasn’t sure how long he’d survive his meeting with John Reese, no matter what its outcome. 

“Then I shall just tell them that you appear well and are keeping up with your physiotherapy.”

Finch pulled a $100 bill out of his wallet, folded it and placed it under his saucer. 

“And how are you, Sherlock?” He really didn’t expect anything more than a deflection in response, but he had to ask. “I never understood why—”

“I was bored.” Sherlock stood up and came around the table to start rolling Finch’s wheelchair back towards the diner’s front door. He didn’t speak again until they were outside on the sidewalk, waiting on the arrival of Finch’s car. “Now I’m not, which makes mummy’s insistence on my having a flat mate utterly ridiculous, but you know how mummy gets.” 

Finch did indeed. Aunt Violet was both the irresistible force _and_ the immoveable object. “And Mycroft?”

“Thinks he will choose my warden. So far none of them have lasted more than a couple of days. The last one actually cried after looking in the fridge. Anyone would think he had never seen ears before.” 

“Mycroft means well.”

Sherlock looked down his nose at him. “Mycroft means nothing of the sort.”

Finch empathized with Mycroft. It couldn’t be easy caring for someone who was so careless with his own life. “What will you do?”

“Someone who owes me a favour has offered me a flat in Baker Street, so I’ll find my own flat mate. It should be easy enough to find someone less offensively stupid than Mycroft’s candidates and then I’ll keep him just long enough to appease mummy.” 

Finch’s car pulled up to the curb. While Sherlock stood by with his hands clasped behind his back, the driver carefully helped Finch in to the backseat of the limo before folding up his wheelchair and putting it the trunk. 

While the driver got back in to the car, Sherlock leaned in to the open passenger door. “Mycroft is insisting I stay at his house until a new flat mate can be selected. The lock on his study door could be picked by a five year old.”

Finch quirked an eyebrow and waited. 

“I saw a detailed list of your prospective henchmen on Mycroft’s desk.”

If you were on Mycroft Holmes’ very short list of people he cared about you rapidly became used to him knowing everything about you, annoying as it was. “That’s unfortunate.” He thought briefly about correcting the use of the word ‘henchmen.’ There was no shortage of henchmen for hire in New York, but that wasn’t what the irrelevants needed. 

“I haven’t even told you the best part yet. John Reese is the only one of them Mycroft flagged as _inadvisable_.”

In the Mycroft lexicon ‘inadvisable’ was the equivalent of DEFCON 1. For the first time Finch was absolutely certain that he’d made the right choice. Hopefully, Mr. Reese would agree. 

“Yes, Reese will do nicely, Harold. Mycroft’s Achilles’ heel is his need to preserve the status quo in an attempt to reassure himself that order exists. You and I know better: _Chaos breeds geniuses. It offers a man something to be a genius about._ ”

Of course Sherlock would quote Skinner. Human behaviour explained as the equivalent of lab rats pressing levers would make sense to him. “Look after yourself, Sherlock.” 

Sherlock nodded and closed the car door. 

As Finch’s car pulled out in to traffic, he turned in his seat to watch Sherlock disappear in to the chaos of a crowded New York street.


End file.
